


You Worry Too Much

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Spawn of the Barduil Skype Group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bard has Hay fever, amidst other allergies, Thranduil worries too much, Tilda dies laughing, figures of speech fly right over Thranduil's head, and Elrond is a troll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Worry Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This was spawned by a lengthy conversation in the Barduil Chat Group about Bard having hay fever, and how Thranduil would react. And things spiraled out of control from there. 
> 
> I am currently dying from hay fever. Oh noooo!
> 
> Daerachas is the Middle-earth equivalent of Risk, I think. I can't remember now, but yeah, I'm pretty sure it's Risk. It's from one of the fics hidden away deep in my writing vault never to see the light of day.

Thranduil has spent an ungodly amount of their relationship uninformed of one of Bard’s more frustrating little quirks. In his defence, Thranduil has never been there for any of Bard’s, or the children’s, little episodes, so he can be forgiven for being unawares. However, one particular, bright spring day finds Thranduil in Dale, where this funny little quirk in question has once more found Bard.

* * *

 

Thranduil searches for Bard at the markets, in his study, in the newly rebuilt throne room, and then finally at the little house Bard insists on living in, even though the palace has now been fully rebuilt. He finds Bard lying on the couch, one hand thrown lazily over his forehead his eyes closed, but Thranduil can tell by the posture that Bard is not sleeping.

“Taking a break day, are we?” Thranduil asks, smiling down at his lover. Bard sniffles and moves his hand, opening his eyes, which Thranduil now sees are red and slightly puffy. “Bard?”

“Hello.” Bard greets voice all stuffy as he gives a little wave, but makes no move to stand. He sniffles, closes his eyes again, groaning softly. “I didn’t know you were visiting.” The sound of his voice makes Thranduil’s skin crawl.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, worry growing in his stomach.

“Hay fever.” Bard replies, sounding bored. “It’ll settle down in about half an hour.”

“But what is it?”

“Hay fever. It’s from all the flowers and trees starting to bloom again.” Bard says, waving Thranduil’s concern away. “I’m fine. Perfectly, perfectly fine.”

“I don’t see how the flowers and trees starting to bloom can affect you in this way, Bard. Have you seen yourself? I have half a mind to call upon a healer.”

“If you do that, they’ll tell you what I did. It’s an allergy, Thranduil. I’ve sufficiently treated it, and it will go away when the herbs I’ve taken have been given time to work.” Bard sniffs again and sits up, sighing heavily. “In the meantime, I shall, very understandably, hate my life.”

“Bard.”

“Thran.” Bard says, giving Thranduil his best stern look, which is absolutely ridiculous, given the puffy eyes, the red nose, and the absolutely pathetic state of Bard’s hair. “I’m fine. And if you call a healer, I will personally box your ears in when my medicine kicks in in about half an hour.”

Thranduil gasps, his hands coming up to rest over his ears protectively, Bard frowns at him, incredibly confused.

“Why would you say that?” Thranduil asks, scandalized.

“Say what?”

“That you’d box my ears in, Bard!” Thranduil exclaims, halfway between outraged and horrified.

“It’s a figure of speech, Thranduil! It means I’ll be very angry with you, and probably give you the silent treatment for a little while. Your ears are very pretty, and I’ll hurt anyone who damages them.” Bard says, his dopey smile ruined, or perhaps enhanced, by how pathetic he looks right now. Thranduil frowns at him and slowly lowers his hands.

“Why would you ever say that if you didn’t mean it?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“I don’t know. That’s just what humans do.” Bard answers, shrugging his shoulders. Bard goes to say something else when his body tenses up a little bit and “ ** _ACHOO!”_** Thranduil nearly jumps three feet into the air at the sudden explosion of sound from the human. “Valar dammit!” the human exclaims, wiping at his nose.

“What was that?!” Thranduil asks, eyes wide.

“Sneeze.” Bard replies with a scowl. “Stick around in winter, you’ll get very familiar with them.”

“I do not want to become familiar with them. They look like they hurt.”

“Sometimes.” Bard says, shrugging his shoulders. Thranduil frowns again.

“Are they meant to hurt?”

“Sometimes.” Bard shrugs again, before pushing himself up to his feet. “C’mon, let’s kill some time doing productive things until the medicine kicks in.”

“How does one kill time, isn't it the other way around?” Thranduil asks, eyebrow raised. Bard snickers and rolls his eyes.

“Look at you, so literal.” Bard says, smiling dopily at Thranduil. “Killing time is another figure of speech. It just means wasting time until whatever you’re waiting for happens.”

“That doesn’t make sense to me, but who am I to question the ways of humans?” Thranduil asks, smiling in return, and allowing himself to be lead to the table for a game of Daerachas.

Bard’s hay fever slowly went away over the course of their game, as Bard had said, and Thranduil was all but forced to admit that perhaps he worried overmuch about his human. but who wouldn't? 


End file.
